"That is
no patient," she said, speaking for the first time. "That is
Pandora's box."

"'That'
is the most interesting man in Gotham."

"Even
more so than you?" She deliberately taunted him.

"I can't
compete with him. By now you've reviewed my plan. What are your
thoughts on the matter?"

"I have
no thoughts as there is no matter."

"Now now
Eleanor, play nice. He's exactly your type."

She
scoffed. "I prefer my madmen a little more… kempt."

"Is that
really holding you back? Is that the hand of restraint?"

"Maybe I
don't think I can compete with him either."

"I
thought that of all things would spur you into action."

There was
a pause in the conversation. He could practically imagine her
recrossing her long legs, rearranging herself on the leather couch,
mulling it over. She was visible perfection. But it was a mask.
Hiding one of the most sinister minds, it was a beautifully ironic
display of dichotomy.

It made
her his equal. Well almost.

"Jonathan,
look at him. He has no natural desires. He is pure and absolute. A
sociopath in the most extreme form! What makes you think I could
tempt him?"

"So you
are saying I am sick and twisted." She was forcing him to say it.
She loved hearing him say it.

"Ever
notice how the ones drawn to our profession are usually the ones most
in need of dire attention." He evaded the question.

"That
isn't an answer."

Jonathan
refused to relent that easily. He'd make her work for it if she
really wanted it. "How would you describe it?"

"Morbid
curiosity."

He let out
a low chuckle. "Yes but with you that's less of a description and
more of a clinical disorder."

"I'm
ground breaking."

"In more
ways than one. Am I to assume you are committed?"

"No but
you can assume that I am willing to hear more details."

Jonathan
had a full blown smirk. The Joker was getting a therapist.

Eleanor
Laurence was stupendous and it wasn't because of her beauty. In the
day and age of plastic surgery, flawlessness was common place. On
first meeting her in college he had dismissed her out of hand. A rich
kid killing time before she married a similarly rich husband.

What he
discovered was a genius woman, a visionary mind and completely devoid
of ethics. Elegant and sumptuous but hard as a tack underneath. She
had been an integral sounding board when he had developed his fear
elixir. Excited at the revolutionary and cruel concept.

Eleanor
however had a deep seated attraction to similar minds. Not the
pathetic whining patients that they treated and diagnosed with the
standard boring disorders of schizoid paranoia. She loved her
sociopaths, the criminally and clinically insane, the split
personalities, the mastermind unhindered by morals.

She had
been out of the country for a few years, studying religion and
acceptable behaviour of the tribes in Africa. Jonathan had loathed
every minute of her absence knowing she was wasted on such a
conventional venture.

He wanted
her back in the cesspool that was Gotham. Eleanor was the closest
thing he had to a friend and, he believed, his soul mate. Jonathan
suspected she felt the same but it would be too simple to admit it to
each other. Almost a weakness. Neither was going to be the one to
break.

She was
the only woman worthy of this scheme. The only one with such a
predilection towards the insane.

Jonathan
didn't have such a primal interest in The Joker. He thought him a
little too brash. A little too vulgar. Certainly he was a fascinating
animal but he was far too public. Insanity is fine, tolerated by
society even, as long as you do it in private.

The Joker
was broad casting on national TV, revelling and wicked in his self
created pandemonium. Taunting the masked vigilante.

Inside his
own fractured mind, Jonathan recognised an opportunity when it
presented itself. He was pragmatic to a fault. He acknowledged The
Joker as the force of nature he was and was downright gleeful with
the proposals he could concoct with that type of power. He just
needed the appropriate person to guide this force. Edge it to the
right direction.

There was
a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that Eleanor might get
hurt in the process. Too insubstantial to be defined as guilt but
there all the same. Still sacrifices must be made for great discovery
to be made. A bit like Jesus.

He laughed
outright at the idea of comparing Eleanor to Jesus. Eleanor was a bad
woman, she was no saint.

Eleanor
reclined in her chair and swirled her glass of red wine. Expensive
but she basked in physical pleasures. She loved money for what it
allowed her to do and what she did was awful, disgusting, debasing…
delicious.

Jonathan
was using her for something. He may be the epic love of her warped
life but he would manipulate her straight into her grave for his own
advancement.

She knew
all this so she had to think his proposition over carefully. What was
in it for her?

She had
arrived back in the city for the social event of the season it
seemed. She had heard of the fiasco this Batman had caused and her
first moments back home had been a testimony to the spreading
niceness. Like a fucking plague.

There was
one shining beacon of hope for people who didn't really fit inside
the social order. The Joker. A man so terrifying Eleanor shuddered at
the idea. She wondered if there were any remnants of a man inside him
or if he was all belief and anarchy.

She hadn't
been attracted to him either. His obvious disdain for hygiene
appalled her. This body of hers should be respected and worshipped.
It was her temple. Granted she had an altar to dark desires but
sacred nonetheless. That man touching her? However the more
she saw the more she wanted to know.

She had
been disappointed when he had been thrust behind bars and she cursed
batman for protecting a society that hunted him. Not any more.
Yesterday had brought the thrilling news. He had escaped. It also
brought Jonathan's proposition.

Eleanor
wondered if his vendetta against Batman was behind him throwing in
his cards with The Joker.

She
returned again to the ultimate question. How could this benefit her?

It would
be a tantalising social experiment. The man was such a complicated
combination of contradictions. He claimed he had no plans but he had
pulled off such artistic debacles he needed to have some cohesion and
organisation.

His origin
unknown but his behaviour reeked of professional training. An uncanny
understanding of fighting and explosives. An absolute fearlessness
and disregard for pain but survival instincts. Down right eerie knack
of pin pointing exactly a person's weakness. He wouldn't define
her. She was unpredictable.

No known
motivation. The makeup mask and horrifying scars. Still as unusual as
it stood all of this could be written off as a jovial nut jobs desire
to annoy. That was Eleanor's original assessment of the situation.
But she had seen the first tape broadcasted. The crackly camcorder
and that high pitched giggle all accounted for. She hadn't been
giving it her full attention. She really should have.

"Look at
me!" he had snarled. His voice no longer nasally or lilting but
steady, rasping with malice.

And with
that he revealed the unadulterated darkness within and gotten under
her skin.

Now he was
free and playing games once more? Well Eleanor wanted to play
regardless of the stakes.

Morbid
curiosity indeed.

……………………………………………………………………….

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